by William Ross
We sow the village path a bright garden
of women’s laughter: bougainvillea,
hibiscus, heavy-seeded amaryllis.
We carry our own weather—domes of shade
we hold overhead, the turquoise ocean
lighting our faces, quicksilver mist
like the flash of fish in the cove, that spin
and are gone.
In the morning marketplace we appear—
paradise tanagers on sudden black wing.
Sky-blue bouquets feather our bellies, each bloom
cradling seeds of sons and daughters held
in limbo, rain on the horizon.
William Ross is a Canadian writer and visual artist living in Toronto. His poems have appeared in Rattle, The New Quarterly, Humana Obscura, Bicoastal Review, Underscore Magazine, Amethyst Review, Bindweed Magazine Anthology, The Hooghly Review, Heavy Feather Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, and others.
Emerge Literary Journal 